Headache
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: House has a headache. where does he crash, now that Wilson's office isn't open to him anymore? what occurs as a result of that choice? why does this summary suck so much?


Chase blinked, as he entered the surgical staff lounge to find House lying on one of the cots, a pillow over his face, his over-shirt laid over him—though he was shivering a little bit.

"House?"

A soft groan was the only reply.

"Um… why are you in here?"

House groaned again, lifting the pillow.

He looked absolutely miserable, pale, sweaty, and exhausted.

"Because Wilson isn't speaking to me, Cuddy's got a donor, and I don't want Cameron anywhere near me like this."

Chase tilted his head, leaning on the doorframe.

"Migraine?" he asked, watching the older doctor touch his forehead with two fingers, looking faint.

"Yeah."

"How long have you been having them?"

"Ten years."

Chase blinked.

Then his expression cleared.

"And we never saw them because you crashed in Wilson's office or just pretended to be late."

"Yeah."

"Why're you in here, though? I mean, you hate sympathy."

"Did you feel at all inclined to be sympathetic? That's why I avoided Cameron. I'm here because I didn't feel like getting kicked out of wherever I crashed and I figured you'd vouch for me if I threatened to send her photos of you looking at that scrub nurse on Tuesday."

"You mean when she asked me if her hair was coming undone? Uh, yeah, I think cam would have forgiven me. Which means you made that up on the spot, which means that either you didn't have a reason, or you're ashamed of it. You never do anything without reason, so I'm guessing it's the second. The only thing you're ashamed of is being human, so that leaves things like feeling lonely or needing help. So what is it?"

House sighed, sitting up with his eyes closed.

"Was worried I was gonna pass out and I figured you wouldn't be too annoying if you happened to find me."

Chase stepped forward, as House opened his eyes suddenly, gripping the edge of the bunk above him and swaying.

House jerked a little, as Chase's fingers pressed on the side of his neck.

"You're tachycardic, House. You taken anything?"

"Triptan," said House, faintly.

Chase pulled a penlight out of his pocket, spreading House's eyelid and flashing the light at the pupil.

House pushed him away, leaning forward and holding his head in his hands.

Chase sighed, folding his arms.

"You need to be admitted."

House sat up.

"What?!"

"That high a heartrate, plus a severe vascular headache a total of two days after you had a bleed in your brain? Do the math, House."

House groaned, lying back and putting the pillow over his face again.

Chase yanked the pillow off, grabbing House's arm and dragging him upright.

House swayed for a minute, then stumbled and sat down on the floor, swaying where he sat.

Chase knelt, putting his hand firmly on his former boss's shoulder.

"Stay here. I'm gonna go get a wheelchair; you obviously can't walk like this."

House snorted faintly, blinking rapidly and leaning on the side of the cot.

"Don't think I'm going anywhere…" he mumbled.

Chase snorted, heading out the door.

When he came back, Stevenson, one of the senior surgical staff, was yelling at House to get out.

House looked like he was going to either throw up, pass out, or both.

Chase touched Stevenson on the shoulder.

Stevenson looked at him.

"Sorry. My fault, I told him he had to sit down, tachycardic, severe migraine, could barely stand up. This was the first place I thought of."

Stevenson looked between Chase and House.

Then he sighed, shaking his head.

"Whatever. Just get him out of here. Don't want to be *near* him."

Chase nodded, pushing the wheelchair in past the older surgeon.

Stevenson dumped his labcoat on the floor and left, looking irritated.

Chase knelt on the floor next to House, leaning sideways a little to see his former boss's face.

House was pasty white, beads of sweat on his forehead and upper lip, eyes squeezed shut.

Chase sighed, pulling House's arm over his shoulders and lifting.

House opened his eyes, looking confused.

"Get up, moron," said Chase, grunting with effort.

House pushed him away, leaned over, and threw up.

Chase sighed, bracing the older diagnostician by the shoulders.

"House. We really need to get you admitted."

House didn't hear him, he had passed out.

Chase sighed, lifting House's arm back over his shoulders and lifting as hard as he could.

House groaned, opening his eyes, then flinched and closed them against the bright florescent lights in the ceiling.

The light coming through his eyelids suddenly decreased, and he opened his eyes again.

Chase was standing near the door, his hand on the light switch.

"I assume I passed out?"

"Yeah. Puked all over Stevenson's labcoat too."

House smirked faintly.

"Can't say I regret it."

Chase snorted.

"Can't say I regret letting you. Guy's a bigot."

House didn't reply, just closed his eyes.

"Why'm I so tired?"

"Because you had another seizure. The increased pressure on your previously ruptured cerebral artery pushed through the weakened section, another brain bleed. It was minor though, no damage. Michaels repaired it with an endoscope, didn't have to open."

House groaned.

"No wonder my head still hurts. What day is it?"

"Saturday."

House groaned.

"I was out for a whole day?"

"not really, it's four AM. Just about seven hours."

House blinked.

"Why are you here?"

"Because Wilson isn't speaking to you, foreman didn't want to have anything to do with this, and Cuddy went back to her office to get some sleep about half an hour ago."

House sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Dammit, hurts…." He muttered, grimacing.

Chase shrugged.

"Migraine's still going on. Gave you some more triptan, morphine. Your EEG was still registering pain, but Cuddy wanted you lucid when you woke up so we could tell if the bleed actually did cause some damage."

House sighed.

"Do you have to keep it down now that I'm awake?"

"Yep."

"Why?"

"Because I'm enjoying seeing you in pain."

House rolled his eyes.

"Sadist."

"Self-destructive moron. I asked Cuddy, she said you haven't had a migraine in a little less than a year. The last time was when cam resigned and foreman quit. The one before that was when you self induced one because you'd sent Stacy away, the one before that was when Wilson was mad at you about something, the one before that was when Cameron quit, the one before that was—" "shut up."

Chase smirked.

"Only you would be ashamed of caring about if certain people were in your life or not."

"Only you would interpret everything to mean your ass-kissing worked."

"Actually, I was kind of figuring it was more *despite* the ass-kissing."

"You never induced a migraine. How can you be sure it wasn't everyone *but* you?"

Chase shrugged.

"You invited me bowling, listened to my advice. You asked me to hypnotize you. You asked me to stick things in your brain. You came to the surgical staff lounge because you trusted that I would vouch for you, deal with you if you passed out. I think that's enough proof."

"Proof of what?"

"you trusted me to not make a big deal of the fact you were lonely enough to ask me bowling, you trusted me to have a good idea about how to deal with people, you trusted me to care what happened to you, you trusted me to take care of you when you were completely, you trusted me with your mind, you trusted me with your *brain*. You don't trust anyone with anything, but you trusted me with everything."

House looked away.

"Don't worry. I'll keep my mouth shut."

House looked at him.

Chase turned to go.

"Don't—"

Chase stopped, turning around.

House had turned away, eyes closed.

Chase tilted his head.

"What?"

"Nothing. Go away."

Chase looked at House's status box.

His heart rate was going up.

Chase looked back at House.

Then he smiled a little to himself, walked over, and sat down in the chair next to the bed.

"Get some sleep."

House looked at him briefly.

He snorted a little, shaking his head.

Chase smiled, picking up the book Cuddy had been reading earlier.

Chase grinned, knocking on the differential room door.

House, in the middle of leading a differential, turned around, looking at him.

"What?" he asked, coming out into the hall.

Chase looked past him briefly, then back at his face.

"First off, I could be Wagner's. Second, here."

House looked at the ticket Chase was holding out.

"What is this, a date? You're engaged."

Chase rolled his eyes.

"No, it's a ticket to a concert. Because you've been sleeping on your office for two days in a row, and you were staring longingly across the cafeteria at Wilson the last two weeks."

"So this is a pity date. That's even worse than I thought."

"No. I don't pity people—especially you. This is I don't like seeing you miserable and you like concerts so shut up and take a ticket already."

House tilted his head, watching Chase carefully.

Then he grabbed the ticket, limping back into the differential room and pulling the door shut behind him.

Chase smiled, shaking his head.

He kind of liked this.

He liked hanging out with House, and he liked going to concerts.

And he liked that House hadn't had another migraine since they had talked.


End file.
